It Cut Like A Knife
by Ispell2
Summary: Preston Garvey is on a mission for the Minutemen with the General (Sole), but things take a turn for the worse. Sole has to take care of his wound, but they hit a snag-to keep him from bleeding out, they have to hurt him even worse. Short story. (Sole is kept gender neutral, for better immersion!) Romance, Hurt/Comfort. Moderately graphic violence.


Preston liked to keep watch over Sole for a little while after he thought Sole had fallen asleep. He wanted to make sure they got a few winks after a hard day, _especially_ a terrible day like the one they had just had. Plus, it didn't hurt that Sole was such a pleasant thing to look at. He had no illusions; it was a little skeevy for a man 7 years older than them to be crushing on them like that. Still, he didn't resist the feelings he had for them. His intentions were pure; he wanted to be by their side. He blushed at the thought of getting to kiss them. He daydreamed about holding them in his arms. When they smiled at him, he felt like he was the best person in the world. They made his troubles seem less troubling, his fears seem less terrifying, and the way they made him feel made the scars of his past and the scratching, painful images he couldn't get out from under his eyelids melt away to dull itch.

They were wonderful. He couldn't imagine what being their spouse was like, even at such a young age that marriage must have been ecstasy. He had other things to support that thought, as well. Like when he finally convinced them to listen to Nate/Nora's holotape.

His heart broke into as many fragments as tears Sole cried. It was awful, but when he held them close to his chest as they soaked his shirt, he couldn't help but feel like he was helping them. Helping them to move on-to heal. And when Sole had stopped crying, he noticed that instead of pulling themself away and wiping their eyes, they had clung to him for almost an hour. They didn't say anything, they barely moved, and they had stopped shaking from their sadness moments after they stopped crying. He liked to think that his warmth and love for them had helped in that.

He knew he was being overly poetic, and that he was dreaming a little too hard. He knew, but he couldn't stop himself from being that way about it any more than he could stop himself from loving them. So he made the best out of it.

Tonight, on the other hand, things were a little bit different than usual. In addition to failing a mission involving a hostage situation, in the ensuing shootout after they had seen the back of the victim's skull blown off by a close range shotgun blast, Sole accidentally put themself in a bad position. One of the Raiders had snuck up behind them while they were busy with the Raiders in front of them. He had seen their knife glint in a spray of sparks from a Raider-wielded tommy-gun, and shouted for Sole to look behind them. But Sole... Sole froze. And Preston did what he had to.

He sprang out of his own vantage point behind a few crates and took the knife that was meant for Sole. The Raider had aimed for the back of Sole's neck, so it had instead slashed Preston's side; but more importantly to Preston, it had missed Sole. He grasped the bleeding gash and hissed through his teeth at the pain, but by the time he had looked back at the startled Raider, he had found that Sole had already turned the mans knife back on himself and stabbed him three times with it. He was only able to look for a moment, but by the time he had turned his eye and his gun back to the three Raiders taking shelter in front of him, he was certain that he had seen absolute _hate_ in Sole's eyes. When they lay on their stomach next to him to get a bead on a Raider that had foolishly stood up from behind her cover to shoot at them, he could see that Sole was covered with a spray of blood-patterns of which he was versed enough in close combat to realize were evidence of a brutal, vicious attack on Sole's part.

And now, here he was, with the roles reversed. Sole insisted that tonight, _he_ be the one to get some sleep. Sole was restless and a little panicky, particularly after he had tried to assume them that he was fine by sitting up after laying down for an hour while Sole took care of his wound, only to wince and double over from the sore, aching gash. He had accidentally opened it again by moving so quickly, too. So as Sole gently pushed on his chest to get him to lay down once again so they could re-do the bandages, he apologized for messing up their handiwork.

"Don't apologize for bleeding!", they shouted, smacking him on the arm.

"Agh! Sorry, sorry!", he laughed, inadvertently opening it up more.

He watched as Sole removed the bloody bandage from his side, and felt terrible when he saw how much they were worried about him. Sole was close to tears when they saw how much the wound had opened, and that the bandage was getting fairly close to soaked with blood. He glanced at the gash, and back to Sole, and with great difficulty he reminded them of what they needed to do.

"We need to cauterize it", he said softly. Sole looked back at him sharply, with fear in their eyes.

"No we don't! It'll seal itself back up, like before!", they replied shakily.

"Even if it does, I'll just do something stupid and open it again."

"So don't do anything stupid!"

"It's what needs to be done, (Sole)."

"I'm sure It'll be fine!", they cried as they grasped his arm.

Hot tears fell on to his stomach from Sole's eyes, and Preston realized that he had done it again. Sometimes he forgot who _he_ was. He fought hard to keep his personality intact, but sometimes his body took over and calloused his actions. The raw, red hole left on his mind by the Massacre had been trying to do this since the moment he realized what had happened. Like a scab, his body tried to dissociate him from the way things were around him; in this case, forgetting that as tough and sometimes downright scary that the General was, they were still 17. They were still his best friend. And they didn't like hurting him.

"Hey...", he said, immediately softening his voice as he lifted his hand to Sole's cheek and wiped a tear from the corner of their eye. "I know it's gonna be hard for you. But It's either that, or I bleed out. I can do it myself if you want, but I will need you to heat something up. Can you do that?"

Sole nodded, and stood up from where they had knelt at his side. They pulled a crowbar from their bag, and after checking to make sure it was a good size, they held it over the fire until it glowed orange; then they handed it to Preston and looked away.

He was furious with himself for getting himself hurt badly enough to need cauterizing. He could hear Sole sob once or twice, over the sound of himself crying out in pain from the searing poker. But once it was done, it was done. The wound hurt twenty times worse than it had before, but the pain ebbed from his side eventually, though every pulse of his heart made it surge a bit.

"I'm okay. I promise.", he said with a hoarse voice, trying to coax Sole to come closer. They wiped their face and walked back to him, sitting on their side next to him.

"Don't take the damn blade next time!", Sole spurt suddenly. "Or the bullet, or the arrow, or the... or the CANON! Next time 'it' comes, don't take it for me!"

Preston looked down at the fire and contemplated what to say.

"(Sole)... I'm s-"

He had been cut off abruptly by a soulful kiss being pushed on to his mouth. Sole placed their right arm in front of his chest and their left behind his back, steadying themself in to perfect position to catch him unaware of what they were going to do next. A few seconds shock passed, and Preston put a hand around Sole's back, between their shoulderblades.

Sole broke the kiss after what felt like a perfect eternity and looked him deeply in the eyes.

"Promise."


End file.
